Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 92646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“Anyway,” she says after a pause, “I’m not usually this social with new roommates. I think I’m still riding the high of not knowing anyone in town. Or maybe it’s the high of witnessing my roommate’s…” She trails off, eyes widening slightly. “LEGO skills. Obviously.”
She said witnessing.
My body goes still.
Oh no.
Is she referencing last night?
She’s smirking, but I can’t tell if it’s because she knows what she’s doing or because she has no idea.
I let out a breath. “They’re robust skills.”
“Clearly.”
And now I’m just sitting here, half-hard in gym shorts, sweating through my T-shirt, trying not to read too much into every breath she takes.
“Do you want to keep me company while I finish the roof?” I ask.
She looks up from the pile, biting her lip. “Sure. As long as you don’t mind me touching your bricks.”
“Oh, I, uh—yeah. Touch away.”
Good god listen to me.
She hums and picks through the LEGO sorted pieces, completely unaware that every graze of her fingertips to my bricks sends shockwaves through my nervous system.
Or maybe she is aware.
I focus on the roof—on aligning the tiny gray shingles just right—but she’s twirling a corner piece between her fingers and watching me with this mischievous expression on her face.
“This part of the castle is definitely missing a turret,” she says, holding up a curved piece. “Or a lookout tower.” She hums again. “Somewhere our queen can roll her eyes at the things a man says.”
I tap the middle of the build. “Right here. Perhaps placed between the library and the armory. You know, got to have priorities.”
She grins and nudges my knee under the table. “Ahh. A well-read warlord. Sexy.”
The heat from that single nudge travels straight to my bloodstream. My heart is practicing a drumline routine in my chest. I focus on attaching the next wall, and when she leans closer to inspect it, I can smell her shampoo.
“I needed this,” she admits. “Stupid and fun.”
“Well,” I say, nudging a green brick toward her. “It might be stupid and fun now, but wait till we start decorating the banquet hall. That’s when things get serious. Tiny goblets of rock.”
Poppy studies my face, eyes sparkling. “You’ve got something on your cheek.”
I blink. “Do I?”
“Mmmhmm. Here.” She reaches out before I can finish the sentence, fingertip brushing across my cheekbone. Soft. Warm. Lingering too long.
I huff a laugh that sounds steadier than I feel. “Careful. That’s a hot button to press.”
Our eyes meet and the air between us shifts—buzzing, electric.
I’m aware of every inch of space she’s not occupying.
We work in a soft, charged quiet, both silently agreeing to pretend the moment wasn’t intimate while also very much not forgetting it was.
She leans in to add a banner over the drawbridge. “I really did need this. It’s relaxing.”
“Good, I’m glad,” I say, clearing my throat because it comes out rough. “We do another round tomorrow? Banquet hall.”
Her eyes lift to mine. “Sure. Maybe.”
Cool.
poppy
. . .
His bedroom door is open and I hesitate, afraid to approach.
Hovering in the hallway like a total creeper, I stare at the golden slice of light spilling from his cracked door—the soft glow of accent lamps casting shadows across the hardwood floor. I can hear the low hum of music drifting through the air.
My palm flattens against the doorframe.
“Breathe. You’ve seen this man’s O-face. You can handle walking into his room.”
I knock lightly—more of a courtesy tap, honestly—because the door is ajar, and if we’re going by roommate code, that’s basically a Welcome Mat. I do not want a repeat performance of last night.
I whisper to myself, “Please don’t be naked. Please don’t be naked,” as I push the door open a tad bit wider.
Turner is very much not naked, thank god.
He’s lounging across his bed, one knee bent, back propped against a pillow, scrolling on his phone with a faint crease between his brows.
His thumb pauses when he hears me.
“Hey, roomie,” I say, trying to like I hadn’t stood and watched this man’s soul leave his body pre-orgasm less than twenty-four hours ago.
His gaze lifts, and his whole face softens. “Hey you.”
No awkwardness. So far, so good…
Just the quiet steadiness he always seems to carry. It’s nice. I’ve noticed Turner isn’t a chaotic person. He’s not all big emotions and drama and loud bellowing like some dudes.
He’s the guy who offers to help carry groceries before you even open the trunk. He’s quiet, but not cold. Chill, but not passive.
A walking exhale.
“You busy?”
“Naw. Not really.” He sets his phone down on the mattress. “I’m just…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, lips pressing together.
“Want to watch a movie?” I blurt out, since that’s the reason I came looking for him. The house is quiet, and I find that I don’t necessarily want to spend the evening alone, even in the living room.
Probably because this saturation is so new. And normally I would FaceTime Nova but now we’re in the same city, and now she has a roommate, too.